I'm not a big fan of old proverbs, Chinese or otherwise. I've never given much creedence to this cup half-full/cup half-empty nonsense! To me, it's entirely dependent upon whether you're drinking from it or filling it. If I'm pouring my tea, then it's half full; if I'm drinking my tea, then it's half empty. It really is that simple!
On the other hand, that's just tea. Now if we're talking beer, it's entirely dependent upon who's buying....
Here's a tea song for ya:

Lady Grey don't leave me hanging on my scones
I knew you when you had no one to drink you
Now you move with highly desired teas
Don't forget I know Sucrets about you

I used to think you were in my cup, but I'm just a struggling author
I wish I knew that you were in my saucer before!
When I give my lips again I know it's gonna last all tea-time
No one tells me where or when, I know, it's gonna last all tea-time

Lady Grey, don't it make you feel sad,
Just to see that the ignorant are scoffing
You were always so warm in every way
Don't time fly when you're sitting and quaffing

I've said "Good tea!" so many times, the tea service ain't all that new
Optimism's my best defense, I'll get through, with a new brew

When I give my lips again I know it's gonna last all tea-time
Yeah, when I give my lips again, I know, it's gonna last all tea-time

I won't be that thirsty again I know, it's gonna last all tea-time
Yeah, when I give my lips again I know it's gonna last all tea-time

Lady Grey I've said all I want to say. go your own way
Don't drink twice without me, 'cos I have ideas and plans of my own

So long darlin' I'll miss you believe me,
Really hot tea was so hard to swallow, but I know that I'll survive
I'm gonna take a good look at my shelf and try, yeah!

[tea interlude]

When I give my lips again I know it's gonna last all tea-time
No one tells me where or when, I know, it's gonna last all tea-time

When I give my lips again I know it's gonna last all tea-time
Yeah, when I give my lips again, I know, it's gonna last all tea-time
(to the rhthym of Rod Stewart's Baby Jane)

There was an outbreak of head lice at the school where one of my kids goes (fortunately he's at a different school now!), so there was a stream of parents smirking guiltily as they went in and out bringing their kids home.

Pediculus humanus isn't harmful in the sense that it will pass on diseases; however, head lice are parasites, and they itch, and they're pretty icky, let's face it, but we evolved together and so I was moved to dedicate this song to them. Call me influenced by Esme Rockett! And anyway, what else can you do? (Other than scour your kid's head, that is, and every other head in the household, and wash everything and go around feeling itchy for days afterwards even though you're clean!)

Since I can't actually write music, I shamelessly stole Bruno Mars's Marry You

I first heard this track on the 'Marry You Proposal' video. The dancing in the video begins at around 1:30 and is very cool. The girls who start the dance are twins: Bonnie Humphreys and Melissa Humphreys, who were then part of the Marvels Dance Company to which the couple, Jamin and Val were also attached.

I don't know which twin is which, but it's really interesting to me to see how differently they dance given that they're identical twins! I know such twins aren't clones in all respects, nor should they be expected to be, but things like this really engage my mind. This video is addictive for me; I find myself watching it often, and rewinding to watch a dance move and see how they string this all together. I have no idea who choreographed it, but they have my admiration! I'm not exactly sure what's so captivating about it, but it mesmerizes me!
Anyway, here's my rendition of Marry You adapted for a lice performance....

Lest you think my songwriting mojo was all splurged in that one effort, here's another on the same subject that I wrote a lo-ong time ago when I was working in a hospital and someone had a lice problem:

I can feel them crawling in my hair tonight, Oh Lordy!
I've been scratching like a demon, and so's my wife, Oh Lordy!
Can you feel them crawling in your hair tonight? Oh Lordy!, Oh Lordy!

Well, if you told me you were itching
I would not disbelieve
I've seen that look before my friend
And it really makes me want to leave!
Well, I was there and I saw scratchin'
I saw it with my own two eyes
So you can wipe off the grin, I know where you've been
And now it's a pack of lice!

I can feel them crawling in my hair tonight, Oh Lordy!
I've been scratching like a demon, and so's my wife, Oh Lordy!
I can feel them crawling in my hair tonight, Oh Lordy!
I've been scratching like a demon, and so's my wife, Oh Lordy! Oh Lordy!

Well I remember, I remember don't worry
How could I ever forget, it's the first time, the last time we ever met
But I know the reason why you keep your scratching up, no you don't fool me
The lice never show; but the nits still grow
It's no stranger to you or me

The relationship between Popeye and Olive Oyl has entered a vegetative and largely fruitless state. Here are some questions for discussion:

Given Popeye and Olive's long history together, is the conversation depicted above appropriate, or is the mansplaining bastard actually harassing this innocent flawless paragon of purest femininity yet again?

Does the background to the cartoon signify that this relationship has now entered a dangerously Gray area? Given what's coming, would blood red be a better background color?

Why is Olive portrayed as black? Can she hold her own against da man? Or would she rather hold his?

How big an influence is the word tuberous in relationship to this relationship?

Why do you think that Popeye's speech balloons are skinnier yet his speech bolder than Olive's?

Is it appropriate that I'm telling you what you think?

Will you tell your mommy that I'm exhibiting this behavior again?

How will this affect my medication regime? Or could only Sherlock Holmes himself answer that question?

Is it at all significant that the olive, Olea europaea, originates in the cultured Geek-influenced Mediterranean, invented by the highly civilized Englishman Tolkien, whereas the yam, Ipomoea batatas, hails from the primitive and backward communist-sympathizing, military-regime-ridden South America?

Given Olive's horrendously anorexic physique, no doubt due to men abusing her chronically throughout her hard and severely repressed life, why are her balloons full, ripe, and round?

Do you like balloons? I do. Draw a large picture of a balloon. Make it engorged with air. Color it red and swollen. If you have scissors to hand (and your mother isn't looking), you may stab the picture repeatedly for textural effect. Do this on a soft, pliant, yielding surface to gain maximum penetration. It's OK to salivate, but be sure to leave no DNA evidence actually on the picture.

Why is Popeye's brutal, domineering body shown in its entirety, whereas sweet young Olive is deprived completely of hers? List three ways she could be still be objectified sexually, despite the fact that no body will go with her.

What role could Owain Glyndŵr play in this scenario? Would he welsh on Popeye?

Could Henry V take Popeye in a straight fight?

How about in a gay fight?

Does Popeye actually drive a Chevy Camote?

Why does Popeye's nose and chin look like genitals? Given this, what is the significance of the pipe? Is this a three pipe problem?

Have you ever noticed that both Popeye and the typical penis have only one eye? Draw an Orc to illustrate this. If you draw a 'Get out of jail free' card instead, you may skip this question. Or hop and jump. I'm easy.

Why did Popeye go on a brutal rampage after this exchange with Olive, taking out Brutus in a gratuitously violent manner demolishing a Wimpy in the process? Was it because he loved Caesar more than was manly to do so?

Relate the salutation 'Hail Caesar' to yams hailing from South America.

The old, silver-haired man who was strolling boldly down Privy Dive in his high-heeled buckled boots, long cloak and Romeda hat seemed to know where he was going, but apparently didn't care who saw him. If he had, he would have simply made himself invisible. Instead, he dramatically pulled a heavy-looking lighter from his pocket and used it to snuff out the street
lights, one-by-one.
“You're just a big show-off, Albluster!” a voice purred softly, making light of his behavior and thereby undoing all his efforts.
Albluster Dumasadore was positively glowing. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the lighter in one of his many pockets, confident that, heavy as the object was, it would not rip through his gown. Those pockets were heavily reinforced and as far as damage was concerned they had, in fact, become pockets of resistance.
Dumasadore turned abruptly to see a cat, which still had milk dribbling down its chin, sitting calmly on the pavement. He had almost stepped on it, but the cat escaped by a whisker. A stone saucer sat by its side. It looked like it had recently been drained back to front and back again, of some very rich milk. Ergo, de puss supped, Ogre.
“You look like the cat who got the cream” Dumasadore mused as he stroked his whiskers. His eyes were twinkling. This was due to a disastrous spell sometime back in the 1920s. It was a spell of very hot, dry, dusty weather, which had irritated his eyes so much that he had attempted to shield them with some free-floating protective glasses.
Unfortunately, the glasses were neither free, nor floating, nor were they protective. In fact, they were downright dangerous as they became stuck so firmly to his face that they seemed to be a part of him. Moreover, the glasses began to enlarge quite alarmingly until Dumasadore had made a complete spectacle of himself.
The cat twitched its tail and suddenly was a delicate, rather severe-looking woman who was wearing eyeglasses which precisely mimicked the pattern that had been noticeable around the cat's eyes. The woman was professor Mcgonagen, teacher of transfiguration at Yogorts School of Kitchen Crafts and Whiskery.
The man with whom she was now vis-a-vis, was headmaster of that same school. The two of them were expecting a baby. And as if the fates had heard those very words typed, there closely followed a faint rumbling-bling nearby in the distance which changed tone in such a manner as to indicate that it was bearing down upon them at a steady flutter. It turned out to be a Harley Davidson aurorcycle with the most gigantic man sitting astride it carrying what looked like a large burrito.
“I suppose you're sure we're doing the right thing?” asked McGonagen, rather cattily.
Dumasadore looked carefully at his time piece, which watch no wretch fetched for him. It was not your usual dial with numbers one to twelve, but instead had twelve hands around which planets circled. “Minerva, I must impress upon you the need for complete trust and faith in...well, my own infallibility!”
They watched the Harley putter up the street for a second or two and then Mcgonagen went on again. “But Albluster, you seriously don't plan on leaving young Harley Putter with these people do you? I've been here all day watching them, and they're overwhelmingly appalling!” she said as a pall began to overwhelm the house upon the front door of which sat the brass number 4.
Dumasadore smiled serenly. “Minerva, I have cogitated for many hours on this -”
“Yes, and the smell coming from that bathroom was acrid, Albluster – positively acrid! I had to use a whole can of Evanesco to clean it afterwards. Please, no more cogitating after eating Mexican whomping beans!”
Albluster let out a deep sigh, causing Mcgonagen to back off several feet, including her own. She hit the pavement with a thump. “Pee-ewwww!” she exclaimed.
“A'right there, perfessors?”
It was the man on the aurorbike who spoke. He climbed off, and delicately handed the burrito to Dumasadore, who ate it hungrily. “Hmm-Hm!” he moaned passionately.
The aurorbike man clapped together hands the size of discuss.
“Wasn't this what we just discussed?” Mcgonagen pouted, wrinkling her nose in disgust
“Sorry I'm late,” the big man growled, “but you know what they say -”
“Better late than never?” queried Mcgonagen, getting up shakily, her nose twitching like a cat's
“No!”, said Agreed, for that was the name of this large man, who was very tall and five times as wide and your average human bean. “They say, 'Sorry I'm late, but you know what they say'.”
“Agreed, let's not get into that again. Now can we please get on with this before we're spotted?”
“Spotted?” asked Dumasadore, his eyes rising like well, bread dough.
“Yes – it's going to rain and we'll be spotted upon if we stay here much longer.”
Agreed coughed timidly.
“Yes, Agreed?” asked Dumasadore.
“Er, perfessor, is it...well...the best...well...yer know...thing...like...for young Harley...well...yer know...left 'ere like this?”
Dumasadore looked carefully at the bundle in his arms. “Left ear? What's wrong with his left ear? It's his forehead that's scarred.”
I know, but I caught his left ear on the 'andlebars when I got off the bike jus' now. Will he be a'right, like?”
“Yes, he'll be perfectly safe here. He will be protected by the deepest, most ancient magic.”
Mcgonagen snorted. “What magic, precisely, is that?
Dumasadore hesitated. “Frankly, I don't know right now, but I'll have worked it out by book four. Will that satisfy you?”
Mcgonagen mewed and “Yes! “ she said, “Yes, it will yes!”
Agreed looked at her curiously. “Are y' sure yer name isn't Joyce?” he asked. “Come ter think o' it, why don't yer just get one o'them Time turners of yorn, and send Dumasadore back to right before Turd Moldewort tries to kill the Patters, and prevent all of this from happening in the first place?”
Mcgonagen shushed him violently. “Don't be so precipitously foolish, Agreed! Would you like to tell me how we would get a seven volume series out of something like that?”
“Oh, I never thought o' that. Shouldna said that, I s'pose.”
“No you shouldn't. Now can we get on with this?”
Dumasadore continued as though he had heard nothing. “None of Moldywort's supporters will be able to touch young Happy or Kill more whilst he occupies this address-”
“He's wearing a dress?” Agreed asked, curiously. “I thought it was just a christening gown.”
Dumasadore continued uninterrupted. “This is the best blessed bed rest when put to the test and Moldywort knows it.”
“Albluster, please don't use that name” Mcgonagen chided nervously.
“Why ever not?” Dumasadore interrogated responsively, his eyes wide in askance, his eyebrows raised questioningly and his hat askew. “It is his name, after all!”
“No it's not, actually,” Agreed disagreed, “It's Tom Riddle...Oh, I shouldna' said that.”
“Agreed! Indeed you should not, at least not until late in book 2.”
“Timbuctu is where I should be right now for a conference,” proclaimed Mcgonagen, and she was gone, only to return in a trice, which was the only acceptble form of transport when visiting Timbuctu.
“Ah!” said Dumasadore, “There's one thing-” he tried to tell her, but Mcgonagen was gone again. “I wanted to give her a message for young Tim, but she wouldn't wait! I need a room as well so I wanded her to have Tim book two." His eyes went misty and he reminisced, "Ah, It seems only like yesterday that it was 24 hours ago, and Tim was but a day younger. I can see it all clearly now,” said Dumasadore.
“Can we get along wi' this perfessor? Only I promised Sillias Back I'd let him have his silly-ass bike back before midnight, like, the little
tike.”
“Agreed, Agreed. Let's never mind that there are psychos on the loose, and prowling dogs and cats and badgers and foxes, and let's just leave this innocent and invaluable child on the doorstep here with a letter, blindly assuming all will be well. So much for our magic, heh, when here we are, throwing our future to the wind and trusting to fate alone!”
Agreed frowned at him and hopped aboard the aurorbike once more. It promptly collapsed beneath his weight and he spent half the night fixing
it.

*** *** ***

Meanwhile, 11 years later, over a decade had passed and no one noticed.
The 11 year old boy lying on his back and gazing blankly into the blackness that was the underside of the stairs certainly didn't notice, but he didn't know he was supposed to.
Hoppy Poppy (for that was the name his mother most often called him) had a shock of hair which wouldn't stay flat, and a shock of a scar on his forehead that looked like it had been imprinted by a small shock of lightning. His eyes were shockingly green. He would have been shocked to learn he was a wizard, but no one had told him. Little did Hoppy Poppy know
how little he knew.
He got up and put on a pair of dingy, baggy jeans that he tied with string, and an oversized shirt. All of his clothes were hand-me-downs by way of his shockingly plump cousin, Dud. Little did Hurry Pooper know, as he sped towards the toilet, that he was single-handedly inaugurating a fashion trend which would bedevil parents and school portrait photographers
alike for years to come.
The clothes were overly large, of course, thought Happy Pooper as he sat there in blessed relief, because his cousin was. He was corpulent.

He was rather obese, actually. Gargantuan, outsize, paunchy, plump, porcine, portly, pudgy, roly-poly, rotund, stout, tubby, adipose, blimp, butterball, corpulent, fat, fleshy, gross, heavy, outsize, paunchy, plump, porcine, portly, pudgy, roly-poly, rotund, stout, tubby, two-ton, upholstered, corpulent, beefy, blimp, bulky, burly, fat city, fat slob, fattish, fleshy, gross, heavy, hefty, large, lusty, obese, overblown, overweight, plump, portly, roly-poly, rotund, stout, tubby, weighty, well-padded, overweight, beefy, big, blimp, brawny, broad, bulging, bulky, bull, burly, butterball, chunky, corpulent, cow, distended, dumpy, elephantine, fleshy, gargantuan, gross, heavy, heavyset, hefty, husky, inflated, jelly-belly, lard, large, meaty, obese, oversize, paunchy, plump, plumpish, ponderous, porcine, portly, potbellied, pudgy, roly-poly, rotund, solid, stout, stubby, swollen, thickset, tubby, weighty, ample, beefy, brawny, chubby, chunky, corpulent, fat, gross, heavy, hefty, meaty, obese, plump, porcine, portly, pudgy, pulpy, sarcous, stout, tubby, weighty, well-padded, large, big, bulky, bull, corpulent, dense, fat, fleshy, great, heavy, hulking, lumpish, massive, obese, overweight, porcine, portly, stout, thick, unwieldy, weighty, abundant, ample, awkward, beefy, big, built, bulky, burdensome, chunky, considerable, copious, corpulent, cumbersome, cumbrous, elephantine, enceinte, excessive, expectant, expecting, fat, fatso, fatty, fleshy, gravid, gross, hefty, huge, laden, large, lead-footed, like lead. In short, he was excessive. And did I mention he was overweight?
Hippy Porter carried his rather sixties-looking attire loosely on his frame (did I mention his cousin was overweight?) as he descended the stairs heavily. He was constantly hitching his pants, because they made him itch. Scratch that. He hitched them to the bathroom door knob accidentally, then to the top of the stair rail, and then to the bottom of the stair rail, each time having to stop and unhitch himself.
As soon as he hit the kitchen, he knew it was a mistake. First of all the kitchen had done nothing to him. Secondly, it was made of brick and wood, and he was made only of flesh and bone – mostly bone, and thirdly, it hurt like Hello!
What was worse, his entire family was already there to see him once again demonstrate his immense ineptitude.
Well, it wasn't his family. His family was the Potters, from Potters Bar. They spent way too much time in the bar, apparently which is how they came to die in a car crash.
And Harried Poppar knew he was inept, or in trouble, or in something. He just knew, deep down inside, that he didn't belong here.
“You're late!” snapped his uncle Turdley. "See to the breakfast at once. Be certain you put some hearty pepper in it this time, and I don't want to end up with a hairy platter!”, he added, seeing Harry to push his hair out of his face again. He had tried trimming it this morning, but fairy lights, tinsel, and shiny little balls didn't make him look very good at all, even with a star on top. He had decided to cut it rather severely instead, but even after that it was groan again.
“And when you've done that, pick up the mail.”
Harry eventually managed to break everyone's fast without breaking his neck, and he trudged down the hallway to pick up the two pieces of mail from the floor.
One of them was a postcard from his obnoxious aunt. The other wasn't.

I'm thinking of starting a gallery of fictional characters as I feel moved to create them, including some of my own. Note that these may change, disappear and arrive without warning - or I may forget about this and never do anything with it again. I had these on a separate page, but I want to start a new page only to find that blogspit won't allow more than 20 pages! Why isn't that a surprise! So I shuffled these in here and usurped their page, evil beast that I am.

Here is a picture of Caitlin Blackwood, who plays the ten-year-old Amelia Pond in the eleventh Doctor's first full appearance, morphed with Karen Gillan, who plays the grown-up Amy Pond in that same ep. This looks like a seventeen year old Amy Pond!

Melody Song

Here's one of Nina Toussaint-White, who plays the rebellious friend of Amy Pond and Rory Williams in Let's Kill Hitler, morphed with Alex Kingston, who plays the best known incarnation of River Song, aka Melody Pond, aka Mels!

Coming soon will be reviews for the following blockbuster movies:Papal Reign The kid is in the vatican, but time after time, there is a plot to oust (yes, oust, not out) him so the evil Morris Dei can take over. Based on a Dan de Coleur novel.When Nora met Ephron (sequel to When Harriet Met Ozzie), the popular chickflick about Ozzie and Harriet Ephron, a married hetero couple who simultaneously became pregnant with identical twins. The stress broke their marriage apart. Will the twins, torn apart and flung to the far corners of the street, be able to reunite, marry, and live harriet ever after? The two is out there!Thighlight in which a 104-year-old who has no reason whatsoever to be in a high school seduces a teenager. Ooookay, maybe that's the reason he's in high school....Moby Kraken. In this sequel to Abraham Lincolm, Empire Hunter, China Melville documents the deterioration of a man obsessed with The Great White Squid of Bram Stoker. Of course, we all know that squid is a euphemism (the verb to phemism: I phemism, thou phemismest, he or it phemisms, she feminisms, we phemism, you phemism, they femism) and Lincoln never is going to get his log completed, but in the wee hours of the morning, as he urinates with deep melancholy, he cannot come to grips with it. Yes, it's tentacle against one, and the odds are even against him.Han Solo and Gretel: Sith Hunters.
Brother and sister, Han and Gretel, were once abducted by a Sith, and as you know, since abductor muscles are the ones which draw your limbs away from your body, this can be seriously confining. In this case it was only the abductor digiti minimi, but no one lifted so much as a little finger to help them, and they've been scarred ever since. As they grow up they make it their life's work to hunt down and destroy every Sith they can find. They're eminently successful until they come up against their biggest challenge yet: Arnold Sitheneggar. I wish I could give it two thumbs up, but it's not going to happen with my abductors being, well, like gone!

As you can see from the image right before you, the artist has done nothing more than make a tired play on words, setting-up fifty pairs of grey shades in rank and file, and trying to pass this off as an original work of art, hoping we won't see through the shades. I'm sorry but I can't even think of a rating to give a sorry work like this of which the art world hasn't taken a blind bit of notice and appropriately so. The artist should take a pair of these shades and hide behind them, Sandy Posey fashion, for shame.

This work by the same artist is really no better, giving us a rank and file of shades or ghosts that completely lacks spirit. Again. it's just a sorry play on words which has, as its only claim to originality, the inversion some ghosts. and in doing so, it's flipping us off into the bargain. This insubstantial work hasn't even so much as a ghost of a chance of becoming accepted in the wide world of art. It must be clear to everyone that the artist has offered nothing new here except that some ghosts are upside down, and you can't even see up their skirts, so how can it possibly be called art?

Review of 50 Chaises of Graigh

Now this is what I'm talking about. Obviously this is something which will stand the test of time - an original work by an artist who can fly by the seat of his pants, and which doesn't need to mention 'shades' or 'grey' to get traction in a highly competitive world. Clearly this artist hasn't been lounging around, and has stepped up and done some real work here to fearlessly depict a scene from one of the worst-selling novels of all time. I predict that this picture will never become a dinosaur.

This picture is up on some local Shell gas stations as part of the advertising for their Fuel rewards Network. I can't imagine someone being this overjoyed at saving 3 cents a gallon, so I simply added my own speech balloon. I have no idea why this thought came to me, but it did and that's all there is to it! It's in homage to Katy Perry's I Kissed a Girl.

In the Inappropriate and Politically Incorrect Book Covers Department we have two contestants this month.

The Runner-Up is:

Now what's that invitation for, again?

And the winner is:

The Batman pictured in the act of actually busting Catwoman. Check out the look on his face and contrast it with the one on hers! He looks like he's had a belt from the utility, and she looks like the cat that got the cream....

I couldn't stand it. Some of the images in the above graphic novel (which is reviewed on this blog were too precious to let go without a parody. Seriously, look at these! Has the Comic Code been abandoned?!

Robert Culp, talking to Peter Falk - who actually only has one eye (the other is glass), has the nerve to say, "...with one eye on the promotion list..."? (TV show Columbo, episode Death Lends a Hand in 1971).

How To Develop Muscles (coming: how to develop mussels, and after that, how to develop missiles) (index)

Looking to develop an impressive physique? You've tried everything and nothing seems to work? The hell with it - cheat! You can develop really impressive muscles in just a few seconds by finding a computer monitor that has a mylar privacy screen over it. Those screens are often deformed slightly. If you bend your arm and get it just in the right distortion on the screen, your muscles will grow impressively! Grab a quick photo with your smart phone (or better yet a dumb phone so it won't tell on you!) and you're in business!

What can be done about these poor half people - The Demimond Of Picadilly Circus? Walking around with no legs, or legs but no head - does no one have pity for them? Thank god that Google Incorporated has expressed this corporal interest and taken it upon itself to highlight their plight with all its might!

Clearly Marilyn was going to be surprised when she discovered her beau, as depicted on the cover at left, is the same guy who's ringing some other girl's bell as depicted at right! Different authors, different titles, same cover! This is what you get when you don't design your own! LOL!

Seen recently at a local HEB grocery store. Call it Merry Xmas Madness, but someone isn't thinking too clearly when they're setting Barbie right next to a hand gun magazine. That perfect dress is probably pink because it got soaked in blood that wouldn't wash out!

Not to sound too fawning, but I don't know whether the deer in this area should look on doe-fully because the drivers are so blind they're even hitting the warning signs, or if the deer should buck up their attention because the drivers are so crazy they'll run down anything that looks remotely like a deer....

This is sick humor if you like. I used to regularly buy this brand for the omega-3 until this particular carton. It tasted of fish. That's not a great taste for milk, trust me; unless maybe you're a cat! I emailed the company to mention this and they pretty much didn't care. Rather than take my complaint seriously, they brushed it off with an offer of a free carton. Sorry, Old Horizon, but I don't take bribes. Neither do I buy this brand of milk any more.

Sometimes I feel I've got to change my brand
I've got to get away
From the taste that you drive into the belly of me
The taste we shared has been lost somewhere
And I see now that you don't care
In your milky tower up there
Once I drank with you; now I shrink from you
This tainted milk you've sold me, makes my insides cold, see?
Take my health and you lose my custom
Oh tainted milk...tainted milk...!/p>

More sick humor! I don't know how alive Alive is, but clearly they're not awake. Consider the bottle on the left, which is the same size as the one on the right, but which contains fully ninety gummy vitamins if the bottom right of the bottle is to be believed. Now consider the one on the right, which you will note from the top left corner is the BONUS size; yet this bonus size normally contains only sixty vitamins? Even with the "added bonus" it still contains fewer than the regular size. What the hell is that all about?! This is why I have zero respect for corporations, not a one of them.